The Hit Girl Dialogs
by carathay
Summary: Conversations with Hit Girl. Or, at least, with a 6 inch Hit Girl. An homage to the Wesley Dialogs by Wil Wheaton.
1. Chapter 1

The Hit Girl Dialogs part 1

Consider this to be an homage to The Wesley Dialogs, by Wil Wheaton. They were originally on his website and portions were printing in some of his books, including "Just a Geek". Check it out!

I recently celebrated my birthday. Knowing how much of a Kick Ass fan I was, a friend located a KA2 Hit Girl figure and gave it to me. It was about 6 inches tall and had Mindy in her Hit Girl costume wearing her mask and included a sword staff, pistols, and six throwing knives. It also included a couple of alternate hands that can actually hold onto those items. I was deeply touched and thanked them profusely. I'd seen it in the store but somehow my dignity had prevented me from actually picking one up. I guess it was admitting that I was too much of a geek or too much of a child at heart. OK, my wife would say I'm just a child, heart be damned, but that's a different story.

I'd just gotten promoted at work and since the new office was pretty bare, I went ahead and put the Hit Girl figure box up on the wall. It happily started at me while I worked, hanging next the mini poster for "If I Stay" that I got at Barnes and Noble for free last weekend. Then the strangest thing happened. I heard someone singing Happy Birthday. You know, in that breathy Marilyn Monroe voice. I turned toward the sound and froze. The little Hit Girl figure in the box was singing. "What the Fu…" I said, interrupting myself because I was at work.

"You mean 'What the Fuck?'" She laughed at me. I began to wonder if I'd cracked from the strain of getting the new job but somehow managed to hold on.

"Yes. But I'm at work, so I shouldn't swear." I replied lamely. I looked under my desk to see if there was a hidden speaker or something. There wasn't.

"Fuck that. Say what you want to say. Don't let the man get you down!" She piped.

I quickly shut my door and looked at her. "Who are you?" I asked.

"Hit Girl, numb nutz! Can't you read the fucking box? Well, technically Hit dash Girl, but I think the dash looks stupid so I'm ignoring it."

"Then why were you singing like Marilyn Monroe?" I asked. What the heck. If I was going to go nuts, this was as good a way as any.

"Who the fuckl is Marilyn Monroe? I was singing like Natalie Portman in 'Leon'. Or 'The Professional' for those dick heads in the states who can't handle the real version. She kicked ass!"

"Natalie was singing like Marilyn… Never Mind." I said, having decided this was a pretty stupid argument to have with a toy. "Well, nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, ass face" she said.

"Hey! Could you please stop swearing? Someone might hear you." I begged.

"You're talking to a toy. The toy is talking back. Do you really think that what I say is going to be the part that gets you hauled off to the loony bin? Look dumb ass, you can relax. My voice is only in your head." I wasn't sure how that knowledge was supposed to make me feel better. "Hey, can you get me out of this box?"

"No." I replied. "You're a collectible."

"Are you ever going to resell me?" I shook my head no. "Then it doesn't matter if I'm 'mint in box', right? So get that box cutter out of the drawer and make with the rescue. They crooked my neck weird when they put me in here and it's been hurting forever." Indeed, when I looked at her closely, I realized she was basically staring at her feet. I took her down off the wall and slit open the plastic. After removing her, I set her down with her weapons next to her.

"Adjust my neck, shithead! I can't fix it myself." I straightened her head and set her back down. "Oh my god that feels better!" She gasped. Then it seemed like her eyes narrowed. "Weapons! Now!"

I put one of the pistols in an alternate hand and then popped off one of her existing hands to swap it.

She screamed in panic. "Aaaahhhh! What the fuck are you doing?"

"Your other hand can't hold anything." I said calmly.

"Oh, right." She replied. She sounded a little embarrassed. Then she brightened. "Hey, would you put my sword staff in my hand, then knock my hand off and say the Darth Vader father speech from The Empire Strikes Back? "

"I'm going back to work now." I said.

She laughed. "Sure you are. I bet you spend half the afternoon watching Youtube."

"Shut up Mindy." I replied.


	2. Chapter 2

The Hit Girl Dialogs part 2

Consider this to be an homage to The Wesley Dialogs, by Wil Wheaton. They were originally on his website and portions were printing in some of his books, including "Just a Geek". Check it out! WARNING – SPOILERS FOR GAME OF THRONES. Books and/or show.

The next morning the Hit Girl figure began yelling at me almost before I'd gotten my office door open. "You cocksucker! You fucking bastard! How could you do this to me?" she screeched.

"Do what?" I replied

"You spoiled Game of Thrones!" she wailed.

"Hey, you asked me to put the audio book on so you could listen to it overnight."

"Yeah but your iPhone was set to random playback! And it was set to all five books!" She yelled, still unhappy.

"Oh." I said. "So, that means…"

"It means exactly what you think, asshole! Every sodding surprise was spoiled. People were alive and dead so many times I thought maybe the author was just re-using names. It played the chapter with the Red Wedding before it introduced the fucking Starks! I mean, they're brutally murdered and a little bit later, they're happily living in Winterfell. I mean, what the fuck? And then I thought that maybe the dad would survive since it didn't mention him at the wedding, but it killed him like two fucking minutes later!"

"Sorry. Well, to be fair, the books do that anyway. The author is famous for it. You fall in love with a character and he kills them." I said, trying to placate her.

"Sorry? One of the best fantasy series totally ruined and you're sorry? I can't believe you didn't turn it off shuffle. And the worst part was that even after I figured out that the chapters were being played out of order, I couldn't stop it because I can't move! Finally, I remembered your phone was voice activated. So I screamed at that bitch Siri for over an hour and she didn't do shit!"

"You have to press the button first." I said, trying to defend myself.

"Do I look like I can press fucking buttons?!" She screamed. Then, she seemed to take a deep breath and calm herself. In a sweet voice she asked "Hey, I'm sorry. I guess I lost my temper. Could you put my sword staff in my hands please?"

"Why?" I responded, feeling suspicous.

"So that when I figure out how to move, I CAN FUCKING KILL YOU WITH IT!"

"But it's plastic." I said, trying not to laugh at her.

"No Shit! All of me is made of plastic! But, if I manage to figure out the whole moving thing, 'plastic' is not going to fucking stop me!" she yelled.

"Good luck with that." I said. Then I gave into the laughter and went to work, ignoring the random swear words that drifted in my direction throughout the day.


	3. Chapter 3

The Hit Girl Dialogs part 2

Consider this to be an homage to The Wesley Dialogs, by Wil Wheaton. They were originally on his website and portions were printing in some of his books, including "Just a Geek". Check it out!

About a week later, I came in with a recent score from eBay and set it on the table in front of the Hit Girl figure. "What the fuck is that?" She asked. I removed the wrapping to reveal the other version of Hit Girl that they made. This one was unmasked, with blonde hair and even a motorcycle helmet. Hit Girl stared at her. "Her skirt's crappier then mine." She said.

"Hey!" I said. "Be nice. Hit Girl, meet unmasked Hit Girl." I said, kind of proudly. "You can keep each other company.

Regular Hit Girl stared at me. "What, you're expecting her to talk to? Greedy much?" I tried to speak but she just kept going. "Sure, this is your delusion so anything is possible, but she doesn't seem to have any life in her to me."

"Well crap." I said. "I thought she might entertain you and keep you from swearing at me all day."

"In your fucking dreams. Oh, speaking of that, why am I always fucking in those fan fictions people write?"

"It's a time honored tradition of fan fiction." I told her. "A odd up maybe, but we tend to extend characters lives into places that TV and movies don't take them."

"Tradition? It's a tradition to turn me into a ho bag? What? Like fucking Thanksgiving? Pass the turkey, and while you're at it, naked me?" Her indignation was palpable.

"Well, umm, it's not really like that. I mean, we like the idea of it being this love story where the characters finally realize how much they care about each other. It's a common nerd guy fantasy. That the hot amazing girl will suddenly realize how much she loves him and they'll be happy together forever." I didn't feel like my argument was working.

"It's a god damn fantasy all right. I'm generally sucking Dave's dick within like two fucking paragraphs!"

I just stammered trying to find a way out of the conversation. She didn't let up.

"Well, other than Precocious Crush by Makokam. That story is amazing. Over 200 chapters and my tongue hasn't even touched his dick. Wonderful character development. I'm truly disappointed that I haven't gotten to meet the characters that he has created. But even he's written one where Dave and I do the nasty."

"Yeah, well… what can I say? You're inspiring."

"Inspiring, my ass. Shit. You'll probably use that line in one of your stories now, right? In a third chapter of your Sex Ed thing?"

"Probably." I said. "At least we generally treat you with respect and make you old enough that it isn't creepy."

"Yeah, well, we'll have to agree to disagree on that one." Apparently mollified, she looked back over at the box for mask less Mindy. "What's with the helmet?"

"You wear it in the second movie." I told her, "when you ride your motorcycle."

"I get a motorcycle?! Seriously?!" She was almost breathless.

"Yeah, a Ducati. It's purple." I play the movie on my iPhone and skip to the motorcycle sequences. We both watch in silence.

"Sweet! So, where is it? I want to see it!" Glee filled every part of her voice.

"I don't have it." I said.

"Well, get your ass on the eBay thing and buy me one, butt wad!" She shouted.

"Sorry. They never made one." I apologized.

"Shit! Well, you can make me one, right?" Her voice was oddly vulnerable.

I tried to put as much sympathy in my voice as possible. "I don't think so. Maybe I'll get you a picture of it."

"I don't want a picture!" She said petulantly. "I want my Ducati!"

"Why?" I asked.

"So I can ride it, fucktard."

"But you can't move." I said.

"You don't know what I do in this office when you're not here." She said with contempt in her voice.

I laughed. "You're right. I don't. But even if I got you one, it wouldn't have an engine or anything."

She stared at me. "I'd make a ppppbbbtttt noise and it would go."

"You'd make a fart noise?"

"Not a fart you dumb shit!" She made the pppbbttt noise again and this time it sounded a little more like a motorcycle and a little less like my six year old after eating refried beans. "Haven't you read 'The Mouse and the Motorcycle'?"

"Yeah." I said, unsure of where this was going.

"Well, that's the noise the mouse makes and the motorcycle works."

I laughed again. "But that's a book."

"So what?" She retorted. "I'm a comic book series and two movies. If I say it will work, it will work!"

"Fine." I replied. "I'll talk to my friend who has a 3D printer. Maybe we can figure something out."

"Thanks. Hey, can he print anything with that thing?"

"Just about." I said.

"Cool. Have him print me a Dave." Was it my imagination, or did she lick her lips?

"I could just buy you a Dave. I think Toys R Us still has them."

"No. I want a different Dave." I stared at her and she realized that I wasn't going to reply unless she explained more. "OK, I want a Dave where you can change his outfit." Now my imagination had spread a blush across her cheeks.

"Why would you want to change his… Wait! You want a naked Dave! I thought you said all that sex stuff made you into a slut!" I was laughing so hard now that I could barely speak.

"Not naked! I mean, you could dress him in a suit! Or a cool jacket! Or… OK – Fine! You're right. I want a naked Dave. I'm a model of a 16 year old girl who has spent almost her entire life in a box. I have hormones! I have desires! And I need a boy damnit! A boy whose clothes come off!"

I fell off of my chair, I was laughing so hard. Hit Girl spent a few more minutes trying to justify her request and finally just started muttering at me under her breath. The last thing I remember her saying was "Well, at least it was more than two paragraphs…."


End file.
